Jordanian Nights
by L-Syllabub
Summary: Ray/Abdullah - There are three reasons Ray hasn't been sleeping well lately...


**A/N:** Set circa _The Regime_, it's not necessary to have read the book to understand the fic, but why not go out and grab a copy anyway since it's really a rather good one in the series.

**A few warnings**. This story contains slash and the kind of scenes of a sexual nature that you might expect from an M rated fic. If you know you don't like that, then don't read. And if you know you don't like that, do read, and flame then I'll just assume you secretly really really enjoyed it and are overcompensating in a big way. Other feedback is loved and cherished. I don't own the books and I'm not earning one single penny from this, so someone nominate me for sainthood eh?

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_Jordanian Nights_

- - -

There were three reasons Ray wasn't sleeping well at night.

The first reason was the easiest. The easiest to guess and what should have been the easiest to solve too. He was a flyboy. Making his living steering chunks of metal and plastic through the air. All over the place, different countries, different time zones. Even International Airline pilots got jet lag. Sure there were tricks to help with that. You could try and get plenty of sleep before you set off, but it was useless advice for Ray, Jetlag wasn't the only thing keeping him awake. The best remedy for Jet Lag just made him laugh. Reduce your stress. That's what they said. Calm down, relax, and take it easy. Other new age mumbo jumbo.

Reducing your stress, it was whole worlds easier to say then to actually do. That was the second reason for his sleepless nights. Stress. Ray's stress was his family. Chloe, the apple that didn't fall far from the tree, and the chick that had flown farthest from the nest. He had no problem with mixing the metaphor, the point was, he missed her. Ramie, the son he didn't even know anymore, such a sap for a boy his age. For a boy of any age that happened to be Rayford Steele's son. It was Irene's fault. Irene was the bad guy in this set up, and it hurt Ray to even think of his wife like that, but it was true. Irene and her god kick. Her goddamn church and all the goddamn little church mice that were encouraging her to get with Jesus and split up her family.

The third reason was a pair of young legs, shimmying hips and cornsilk blonde hair named Hattie Durham. His not quite mistress in his not quite affair. The sweet girl who wasn't quite as dumb as you might guess. Definitely not dumb enough, anyway, to be giving Ray those doe eyed looks by accident. No, they hadn't done anything, but Hattie had made it perfectly clear that Ray only had to ask. Only had to take that next step, and he was only human too.

At the moment Rayford could have shoe horned in another reason. A one-night special of stifling heat and a reeling head.

He'd arrived in Jordan that morning. Now he was sweating inside a small makeshift tent and regretting his choice to drown his sorrows in cheap alcohol. Jeez, it could have been moonshine for all he knew; he wasn't going to ask Abdullah something like that. Not after how hospitable the guy had been.

Ray had heard that the desert was supposed to turn cold at night, but it was well after dusk and still sweltering. Didn't help that the huge fire from the evening's festivities was still going strong inside their ring of tents. He could hear voices babbling outside, insanely fast it seemed to him, foreign noises that all sounded exactly the same. He'd been having a good time too, until that extra glass had knocked his mood into a turn for the mawkish. Ray had excused himself and even though Abdullah had looked concerned, god bless that man for not asking any questions.

Well...maybe God shouldn't bless him _too_ much. There was something about Abdullah that made Ray feel, stupid as it sounded, that he'd probably understand. Maybe it was the heat going to his head, but the first time he'd met Abdullah he'd felt a shock of recognition. A kindred spirit kind of thing. So maybe Abdullah wouldn't have needed to press too hard before Ray spilled his guts over what was on his mind. Irene, Hattie, the whole sorry story.

Too hot to sleep, Ray sat up wearily and rubbed his eyes, then collapsed back onto the ground with a frustrated sigh. The mattress itching at the skin not covered by his damp vest and shorts. This was the second time he'd come out here. The first time they'd had a nice hotel to go back to at night. Unfortunately they were about sixty miles away from the nearest village, let alone one with it's own four star inn. Hence the tents, sand and stars.

He didn't know how long he'd been lying there for, staring at the canvas ceiling, except that the voices outside had died down a bit by the time he jolted upright from the half daze he'd been lying in. There was someone moving outside.

"Rayford?"

Ray frowned, he thought he knew the voice but he wasn't completely sure. Straining to listen, it all went quiet again. He was just about to shrug it off when he heard the sound of someone crouching down next to the front of his tent.

"Rayford, are you asleep in there? It is me."

A familiar voice…. Abdullah! Of course. Sounding like a drunk making an effort to appear sober.

"I'm awake." Ray clambered awkwardly to the zip and pulled it down to be faced by a grinning young Jordanian holding a bottle of something clear and evil looking.

"I thought you might be." Abdullah said, standing up a shade unsteadily. "Come, we shall walk and talk. I've given up on getting any sleep this night but my comrades seem to feel differently."

Ray rubbed the back of his neck and glanced doubtfully between Abdullah and the inside of the stuffy, cramped spot he was supposed to be sleeping in. It was a toss up between whether it was the bottle in Abdullah's hand, the prospect of a good conversation, or the tiny breeze that chose to ruffle Abdullah's turban-less hair at that exact moment, that shook the doubt away. Rayford nodded anyway, and followed Abdullah as he started to walk away. The both of them picking their way through the field of tents and trying not to make too much noise.

Once they'd made it outside the little makeshift campsite, Ray jogged the couple of strides in between them and nudged Abdullah.

"Where are we going then?" He asked.

"I wish I could say to a special desert oasis that only I know about." Abdullah said, tapping his noise. "Unfortunately, I cannot. Just up there, to catch the wind and enjoy the view."

Abdullah was pointing to a small hill some distance from where they were walking. The remains of an old building jutting out of the sand at the top.

Ray groaned. "Well that's a trek and a half. What did I ever do to you?"

"Mr. Steele. We are both fighting fit young men, it will do you good!" Abdullah smiled wickedly, unscrewing the bottle in his hand and taking a drink. "And I said. We shall walk and talk. I have a feeling that we will need to do a good amount of walking for this conversation. If you want to tell me what was bothering you this evening."

Abdullah turned and looked at Ray with an eyebrow raised. He was offering the bottle and still in good spirits, but there was a serious expression in his eyes. Rayford knew that Abdullah wouldn't press the point if he said he didn't want to talk about it. But that was the dare. He hesitated, glanced over his shoulder once, and then took the bottle.

"Ok, but you're going to regret asking."

Abdullah just smiled, and they started to walk.

…

The sky wasn't any lighter when they arrived at the top of the hill and half collapsed against a sand scoured wall there. But it felt like they'd been talking for hours.

Hours of talking and getting steadily more incapable of not slurring that speech. Abdullah had begun with a head start on Ray's slight buzz, but now that they'd abandoned the empty bottle somewhere along the way, they were both pretty much at the same place. The level of drunkenness when you suddenly feel completely enlightened.

It wouldn't be fair to blame that totally on the alcohol though. Ray had told Abdullah practically everything. His problems with Irene, all the anger he felt about that and his worries for his marriage. All the frustration that there was nothing he could do. He'd told Abdullah the entire story of this new church that Irene wanted him to go to. How she'd alienated his own son from him. How he couldn't even go and play a game of golf anymore without being nagged about it for christsakes!

He hadn't left out anything. Not even about Hattie. The thoughts he found himself having about her and how easy it would be to act on those. All the reasons why he hadn't been sleeping well lately. Ray wasn't usually the kind of guy who found it easy to share this kind of stuff. Emotions. But the more he drank, the easier it was, and Rayford found himself almost unable to stop talking.

And Abdullah understood. Just like Ray had thought he would. He didn't say much, letting Ray talk, but he understood. And then when Abdullah _did_ talk, told Ray how bad things had gotten with _his_ wife lately. The turmoil he was going through with his own religion and his own temptations and everything else that made for just as dire a picture as Ray's…well Ray did feel enlightened. Felt something anyway.

Feeling that there was someone out there who really did understand, and they'd be there for you. Even if it wasn't for long. Well, it was a nice feeling.

Almost as nice as whatever had been in that bottle. Ray let his head fall back against the wall heavily and winced as a shower of sand fell over his face. Abdullah was laughing, and Ray felt like they really should have brought some more alcohol, even though the ground seemed to go all tilt-a-whirl whenever he closed his eyes.

"So, the view, it's good no?" Abdullah prompted, causing Ray to blink blearily and try and focus on something farther then a few feet away.

He'd never really got the whole 'double vision' thing before. But it was certainly starting to creep up on him now. Luckily there wasn't much to look at.

Ray said, "Sand and more sand. Very nice."

"No!" Abdullah cried, not slurring his speech as much as he had been. "I have watched a lot of your Hollywood films. You are supposed to look at me and say that the view is amazing."

He cackled and slumped further down the wall. Heels pushing grooves into the sand in front of him. His voice suddenly serious.

"I'm sorry about your wife Ray."

"I know."

The friendly pat that Ray had meant for Abdullah's shoulder missed altogether and landed somewhere near the top of his leg. _Hand eye co-ordination shot to pieces_, Rayford thought absently. Abdullah's hand came down upon his, and before Ray could even consider that it was to push it away, it squeezed. Abdullah's hand, on top of his hand, on top of Abdullah's leg. And the younger man sighing happily.

Rayford flinched. A little. But did nothing. Abdullah seemed oblivious; with deep brown eyes half closed he looked even more exotic then usual. Heavy lids, dark lashes, but Ray was definitely not considering how beautiful his eyes were. He _was_ aware of the sweat cooling on his exposed skin. And suddenly, painfully, aware (just the thought was enough to make it ten times worse) of how long it had been since he and Irene had slept together.

Abdullah turned, brushing the hand off now, and tucking his legs under him. Kneeling in the sand next to Ray and watching him with the trace of a smile on his lips.

"Ray." He said softly, as though Rayford were some kind of skittish animal that might bolt at any second. "I'm sorry. It's just…"

Abdullah trailed off and gave him a universal kind of shrug. _You know what I mean_? He was asking. The tone sincerely apologetic and Ray guessed he might have been blushing if the alcohol hadn't so obviously demolished whatever inhibition centred part of the brain it was that made you blush. Probably in some way connected to the part of the brain that made you want to go out and screw the first thing you saw that moved.

Though maybe the brain wasn't involved in that at all. There was something else entirely responsible for that urge. Rayford resisted the impulse to glance down at his lap. He knew what Abdullah meant all right.

Ray swallowed thickly. "Don't worry about it." he said, and was surprised at how hoarsely his voice came out.

"No?"

Abdullah's jaw tightened for a second. And then he put _his_ hand on top of _Ray's_ leg. Skin on skin with the tips of his fingers just about vanishing under the cuff of Ray's shorts. There was something about those bare millimetres disappearing under his clothes that reminded Rayford of the first time he'd ever slipped his hand under a girl's shirt. That feeling that you're entering a forbidden zone, wildly exciting and nerve wracking. Except this was happening to him. And the smooth, light brown palm touching him didn't belong to any girl.

_How long has it been since you've had another human being touching you like that_? This definitely wasn't his brain talking.

"No, don't…. worry." said Ray. Then smiled a little sheepishly.

Abdullah laughed deeply, from the back of his throat. "Don't ask, don't tell."

"Not even _that_ big of a deal."

Abdullah nodded his head slowly, his thumb moving backwards and forwards over the muscle in Ray's thigh. "Nothing unnatural, it is just..." He paused and grinned drunkenly. "...Giving a helping hand'"

He held up the helping hand in question and placed it between Ray's splayed legs. His eyebrows arching in slight surprise as he adjusted his grip, just gently, up and along the hard disruption of Ray's shorts. A little pressure and Ray was drawing in breath sharply, hissing it in, through clenched teeth.

Abdullah said. "For my friend Ray, my very good friend."

_Best friends in the whole world_, Ray thought in a burst of drunken philosophy. "It's just been so long."

"I know, I know, I know." Abdullah mumbled breathlessly.

He was fumbling with buttons now. Impossibly unable to seem to get the things to unfasten. Ray cursed himself for not taking advantage of the wonderful invention that was the zipper. Even though watching Abdullah earnestly struggling with the bits of plastic was more of a turn on then Ray could ever have imagined, he didn't think he could take this for long.

_From nought to sixty_, Ray thought, _damn, was this what we came up here to do? _

He tried to think, on any level had he…? No, that was impossible. And this, this was just…

Rayford's thoughts dissolved, as Abdullah sighed heavily, the sound raw with frustration and need and let his forehead fall to rest on Ray's shoulder.

"My fingers, they don't work." Abdullah said. Amused clearly, the laugh in his voice told you that, but desperate as well.

Ray disagreed with the statement silently; Abdullah's fingers worked well enough, but he pushed the other man away a little. Brought himself up to his own knees. Mirroring Abdullah's stance and willing his own hands not to fail him, he worked the line of buttons undone and let his shorts fall down to around his knees. Much too far gone to feel any embarrassment over it.

And because he'd made love plenty of times; sweet, drawn-out, tender and caring with his wife. He let Abdullah put both hands where his waist would be, if he had curves and not flat hard worked muscle, didn't protest when the hands curved around to the small of his back and then dropped lower. Grabbing him, pulling his hips against Abdullah's where they rubbed in an agonizing tease against each other. He'd made love plenty of times, but he'd never done anything like this.

Abdullah slipped a hand between them and pulled Ray's briefs down, Ray biting back a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a growl when Abdullah's fingers curled around him and then tugged slowly, far too slowly. A quick red flash of animal instinct insisted Rayford should throw Abdullah onto his stomach and just fuck him hard right there and then. As soon as the thought had passed, Ray felt horrified for even imagining it, but he could still feel the strength of the urge. The hunger.

"Abdullah."

Abdullah released him and Ray groaned, not the response he'd been hoping for. But Abdullah was busy unfastening his own pants, lightweight as they were and as Ray couldn't help but noticing, no underwear. His gaze tore sharply upwards as he saw Abdullah take his fingers, still sticky from Ray, and place them one by one in his mouth. Licking messily until they glistened.

Ray felt his gut twist with lust and for a split second he was worried that the sight alone might tip him over the edge. He didn't have time to ask him what he was doing, before Abdullah's hand fell between the two of them again.

Fingers now slippery, wet and warm brought them together. And it was _good_. The best thing Ray had felt in what seemed like forever. Abdullah's head rested against his shoulder as he worked them both over, his breathing quick and shallow and close against Rayford's neck.

Abdullah wasn't making much noise apart from his rushing breath, but Ray couldn't help himself. The harder he tried to choke back on the sounds desperate to escape his throat, the louder he could feel himself getting. It didn't help that Abdullah had quickened his pace. The friction between them and Abdullah's hand gliding up but still pressing and his wrist flicking just ever so slightly before his hand came down again. And then again. And again.

Ray was panting. "Oh my God."'s falling repetitively from his lips. So hot it seemed a miracle the sand wasn't turning to glass around them. He wanted it to be over and he wanted it to go on forever all at the same time. But there was no way this was going to last much longer. Abdullah's little moan against his ear was all it took.

Rayford came first. His cry splitting the arid night air, his eyes opened just in time to see Abdullah's close tightly and an expression that looked pained with pleasure flit across his face as he finished too.

Ray sunk down onto the sand, all the tension eked out of him. Exhausted, and with a passive eye he watched Abdullah pull off his blousy uniform shirt and wipe his hands on it.

…

They didn't talk much on the way back to the tent site. But it was an easy kind of silence. And when they got back to Rayford's tent, now only pleasantly tipsy, they smiled at each other. No need for words. No need to explain or apologize or draw lines about what it was going to be like in the future. Nothing like that was going to happen again, and they both knew it. And that was fine.

And when Rayford crawled back inside his tent, he was asleep almost before his body hit the mattress.


End file.
